


He's Beauty and He's Grace, He Landed On His Face

by AngelusErrare



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: AU, Other, Silly, for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3636879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelusErrare/pseuds/AngelusErrare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His ginger fur is messy and sticking out in all directions, he’s covered head to tail in dust and <i>dear StarClan</i>, every cat in the clan is staring at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Beauty and He's Grace, He Landed On His Face

**Author's Note:**

> For Ash, because after we talked about it during your stream I couldn't get the idea out of my head. Probably nowhere as funny as it was in chat, but hey, I tried.
> 
> Never written Warriors fic using canon characters, so I'm hoping I didn't butcher this too much. I'm too used to writing roleplay posts with OCs.

Bluestar always made it look so easy, all fluid grace and perfect balance, as if being the leader of Thunderclan was second nature to her. It probably was. Is it any wonder he looked up to her so much when he first came to the Clan? She oozed confidence and wisdom with her every movement when she called the Clan together.

Lying in a heap at the bottom of the Highrock, the newly-named Firestar is _not_ the picture of a wise and admirable leader. His ginger fur is messy and sticking out in all directions, he’s covered head to tail in dust and _dear StarClan_ , every cat in the clan is staring at him. All of them, from the youngest kit to the most wizened elder. 

Longtail is snickering to Dustpelt, eyes gleaming, and Cloudtail is shuffling his paws in embarrassment at his kin’s spectacular fall. Sorrelkit and her siblings are watching him with huge, round eyes, while Bramblepaw eyes him with that same inscrutable expression. Normally it unnerves Firestar, but now under the pressure of everything in the past few days the gaze of his apprentice is almost unbearable.

He pushes himself painfully to his feet, muscles screaming in protest-- muscles that were already sore from the race to the gorge and the long journey to Mothermouth and back, to say nothing of the bruising he received in his tumble from the Highrock.

He knows it isn’t really his fault. He’s trembling from lack of sleep and nerves, and his eyelids are heavy, but he faces the Clan with chin held as high as he can manage. Day one as leader and he has successfully embarrassed himself in front of every cat. It can only get better from here.

He hopes.

He opens his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted as Graystripe snarls at Longtail, “I’d like to see you do any better!”

“Yes,” Whitestorm adds, and Firestar blinks gratefully at the older warrior. “After all we have been through recently-- after all _he_ has been through recently-- who can blame Firestar?” He’s sitting with his white tail wrapped around his paws, but it seems as though he’s towering over the other tom. “He has had hardly a moment to himself since the dog attack, and, if you recall, he is one of the cats who chose to stay behind and lead the pack to the gorge.”

“Yeah,” Sandstorm cuts in, surprising Firestar. “And while all of us got to curl up and sleep the night away after that, guess where Firestar was? The Moonstone. He hasn’t gotten a moment’s rest, and what does the stupid furball do the second he gets back?” Here she glares at him, and Firestar’s pelt burns even knowing her ire is directed more at his lack of self-care than anything else. “He tries to call a Clan meeting to make sure we’re alright.”

Longtail’s ears flatten, but he doesn’t dare speak against Whitestorm, and Sandstorm would claw his ears off if he tried. Graystripe casts a smug look at the other warrior before his gaze turns to Firestar. Beside the gray warrior sits Sandstorm, her eyes warm and encouraging. It gives Firestar the strength to continue, knowing that he can rest beside her once all is said and done.

\---

“They should have changed your name to Fallingstar,” Graystripe teases later that evening as he, Firestar, and Sandstorm crouch together outside the warriors’ den, the half-eaten remains of a hare and pidgeon laid between the three. 

Firestar rolls his eyes and says nothing, taking another bite of the hare. As he chews, relishing the taste, he knows everything is different. It feels the same-- the gentle teasing, sharing tongues and fresh-kill in the clearing, the sounds of the other cats milling around the camp-- but the reality is that nothing is the same. If it was, Bluestar would be here too, sharing tongues with her senior warriors before venturing to the nursery to check on Willowpelt’s kits.

But she isn’t. 

He can’t replace Bluestar, would never try to, but his heart aches knowing she is gone. His exhaustion runs too deeply for the full weight of his responsibility to set in just yet, and he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

He barely hears Sandstorm reply to Graystripe, can’t tell if the rumble in her chest is amusement or threat, but he doesn’t care. Right now he needs this, needs them. The bickering and teasing and companionship. For now he doesn’t have to be leader. For now he can just be Firestar and forget what the “-star” really means, pretend just for a while it’s a normal warrior’s name and not a sign of anything significant.

Just for a while.


End file.
